Chapter 7 Seven, mother

Seven, mother 55 WR and Z, in their early images, were confused. For example, the boy WR heard the terrible news but if he didn’t say anything, he saw the absurdity of the story but if he knew the benefits and didn’t tell anyone, if the boy’s vigilance overwhelmed the boy’s frankness, he dismissed the absurdity Quietly but deeply hidden in my heart, then he is not a boy WR, he is a boy Z - in front of my eyes, the image of WR quickly dissipates, and where it disappears, it is replaced by a boy Z.Conversely, if boy Z has not yet understood the need to be vigilant, and the boy's frankness makes him tell the absurdity of the story, then boy Z will disappear, and boy WR will return in the same position.

Besides, the two of them, as the millennia-old absurd story continues to circulate, I have the impression that their teenage situations kept getting mixed up, sometimes merging into one on writing night. I know this is entirely limited by my subjective dilemma.For example: I only saw the path of a boy in that ridiculous story, but I saw two people walking from it at the same time. 56 On that winter night (or that summer night when the dreadful news came), Z, who was nine, or WR, who was ten, came home and his mother was in the kitchen preparing dinner (or going to the kitchen to prepare tomorrow's breakfast), yes Son's mood changes

Z stood at the door of the kitchen for a while, and saw his mother making a lot of steamed buns.In the midst of the steaming steam, his mother's face was fuzzy and tired, and she only asked him, "Where have you been all afternoon?" Z wanted to ask why he steamed so many steamed buns, but he didn't; tired, even desperate, Fill my heart all at once.These steamed buns, so many steamed buns, especially after making them endlessly and steaming them, steaming them smells all over the house and courtyard, and they are all round and pale in my heart, stomach and brain, all because of their mediocrity Smell! Z turns and walks away.

What about WR? WR walked into the bedroom, closed the door tightly, turned off the light, and lay down on the bed. Z returned to his room feeling a pang of despair.The scene of the whole afternoon was still entangled in his mind, the smell of steamed buns all over the yard came in through the gaps in the doors and windows, and the beautiful and cold voice in the hopeless darkness carved the nine-year-old's heart over and over again.Resentment and resentment swirl, roll, swell, lose warmth, and have no strength like the steam surrounding the mother. After a long time, WR got up and sat in a daze in the dark.The starry sky on a summer night is no different from the past, but the news in the temple is changing this young man.

Z must have instinctively set his sights on an old gramophone and a stack of records, which belonged to his father and which his mother had brought from the south to the north.Then, the boy walked towards it as if rescued, and eagerly pulled out the record, his hands even shaking.The music started.The music, either slow or sonorous, sounded.Can be before.Possibly "Pathetic."Maybe "Pastoral" or "Moonlight".Either Grace, the Four Seasons, or The Swan, some famous opera.These elegant and solemn music resisted the beautiful and cold voice. These flying and handsome music made the girl's parents and elder brothers and sisters not dare to be arrogant. In this melody, the nine-year-old Z was no longer timid, but also I was able to look out at that surprisingly beautiful house.By the light from the kitchen, he read the words on the record sleeves—the names of the great composers he already knew.Those were written by his father, clear and powerful. Z touches them.

At this time, WR and Z are even more confused: WR leveled those records, looked at them with the help of the summer night starlight, and blew off the dust on the sleeve...but the title of the song on the sleeve is different from Z's. For example, the record in WR's hands is likely to be Brahms, Liszt's "Jesus Christ", or Berlioz's "Symphony Fantastique" and Debussy's.This difference does not have any special hints, but because such music reverberates in the starlight of the summer night, it is easier for people to understand death.In my memory, that summer night, after returning from the deserted temple, the boy WR thought of death for the first time.

Boy Z also thought about death.Of course it was on a winter night, in the music of dying swans. Boy Z or boy WR, when they think of death, they always think of their father first.Neither of them has ever met their father, which is probably the main reason they keep getting confused in my mind. Is the father dead?There was never an answer.Thinking of their mother again, they looked towards the kitchen. What if the mother died?I don't know if they ever, like me, wished, for a moment, that their parentage was a mistake, that their parents weren't really their parents, that they didn't have such parents, but that... and what is it then?But I know that they have hoped at least as much as I did, to have another kind of family, such as a pair of glorious parents, a "red" family that is not "black" at least.But the dim light made their mother's hardworking figure appear on the kitchen window, making them feel like crying.Whether it was me, the boy Z or the boy WR, they all saw their own despicableness from that momentary desire.So they think of themselves, that all people are going to die, and they are going to die too.What would happen if he died?Then there is nothing, nothing, everything.What would it be like?Darkness, darkness, darkness, the darkness is boundless, there is only one feeling floating into the endless darkness, and there is nothing... Then what could it be?

WR seemed to be sitting in the darkness, weeping, feeling extremely lonely.He simply stopped the music and listened to the sounds of nature in the summer night wholeheartedly. Z didn't dare to think about it anymore, Z made the music louder so that it could withstand the cold and long winter night, and fled in panic.He ran out of the darkness, and ran to the light, to the kitchen, and to his mother in a daze. Mother said, "What's wrong with you?" The son froze, as if he hadn't returned from terror or isolation. Mother said: "Okay, let's eat." The son just let out a breath, as if shaking out a lot of sobbing and confusion from the bottom of his heart.

The mother was very preoccupied, and mechanically picked up the food in the bowl with a pair of chopsticks. Mantou, today there is even meat, there is the translucent orange red of carrots, the tender and trembling milky white of tofu, and the round and flat oil beads floating on the sauce-colored broth, the oil beads shimmer, drift, and converge, making them irresistible The smell of meat soon whetted the appetite of a growing teenager.Death nimbly evades, hides into the future.Now, the boy began to eat with a big mouthful.It's not always possible to have meals like this on weekdays. The son asked, "Why are you steaming so many steamed buns?"

"These few days," my mother stopped chopsticks, "I may not have time to cook anymore these few days." "What's the matter?" "We're moving tomorrow." "Tomorrow?" The son stared at his mother, "Where are you moving?" Mother averted her eyes, lowered her eyes again, and lowered her head to eat. At this time, the son thought about the unexpectedly beautiful house, or thought about the deep temple.The son quietly went to see his mother. He always thought that his mother was the most beautiful woman in the world, and now he wanted to see her again.The teenagers don't understand yet, they want to get rid of their subjective prejudice and watch it again.No problem, no doubt, through the weariness on the mother's face and the embarrassment in the mother's heart, what the son sees is still the most beautiful woman in the world.Even when the mother was old, the son still looked at the mother like this several times.Even when she was dying with difficulty, her son still saw her like this for the last time, regardless of subjective prejudice, his conclusion did not waver or change in the slightest.On that deep winter night, or midsummer night, the son felt that his mother's weariness and haggardness were his own fault.

Mother said: "Why don't you eat much today?" "mom." "Eat quickly. Eat some more. I have something to tell you when I finish eating." "I'm full. Really. Mom, tell me." The mother sank, her forearms lay flat on the table, and her hands were crossed together: "Tomorrow we have to move." The son has forgotten about it.Now he asks, "Where are you moving?" "Move to..." Mother averted her gaze again, her hair hanging down to cover her eyes. "Mom, where are we going to move?" This time the mother quickly looked back, and all of them fell on her son's face. "Move, to your father's place." "My dad?" The mother's eyes were all on her son's face, but she didn't answer. "Where is my father?" Still the same, the mother did not answer. "Has he come back? Where does he live? Mother, has there been a letter from Pa?" "He lives not far from here," said the mother. The son looked back, looked around, then looked at his mother. "Good boy," the mother called his name (Z or WR), "go, go and see your own things." "Why doesn't he come? Dad, why doesn't he come to see us?" "Pack up your own things, the things you want, go, all together." "mom……" "Go. We'll be moving there tomorrow morning." Mother got up to clean up the dishes... The boy went back to the bedroom.The word father made WR feel far away and strange from the bottom of his heart. He couldn't figure out what kind of feelings he had for the man he had never met, whether he should hate or love the man who was about to come, why he left his mother and why he didn't think of it until now return. WR pulls out a record and puts it on the record player. His favorite is the Mahler one, I think.That music always makes WR think of the vast and desolate north, and think of his father.Even though the father is more likely to be far away in the south, when thinking of the word father, the young WR always feels that the man should be in the opposite direction, in the wilderness where the sky and the earth are connected, where there are black forests and white snow and ice, his father should be in the sky. Wandering in a place with high winds, high water and long rivers, he has to come back after going through all kinds of hardships and dangers, and return to him and his mother. Z laid out dozens of records on the bed, and stood by the bed to watch them for a while.They were the first things he thought of.The first thing to bring is them.These records are his favorite things, besides this is something left to him by his father, he thought, he should show it to his father tomorrow, let him know that he and his mother brought them from the south to the north.On the record player and in Z's nine-year-old heart, slowly turning, I think it may be Borodin's opera "King Igor". Z's special fondness for that record must have started from this night. ... King Igor led an expedition to fight against the invasion of the Polovtsians, but was defeated and captured.Khan Borovets appreciated his bravery and tenacity, and expressed his willingness to release him on the condition that he promised not to be an enemy of the Borovets.This condition was rejected by King Eagle.Out of admiration for King Igor, Khan Polovitz ordered his subjects to perform songs and dances for King Igor... Z has never seen his father, he sees his father from this music... the sky is blue, the wild is vast, the setting sun is like a plate, and the wind and smoke in a different place... He imagines his father from that noble king, the stirring singing and dancing, the dancing and dancing, Songs and dances that have been heard far and wide!From it he imagined a man narcissistically. But they have never met their father. From birth to now, father only exists in the imagination of Z and WR. 57 I read a report in a newspaper in Hong Kong in 1988, the general idea is as follows: ...a couple who had been separated for forty years reunited in Hong Kong. We have not been newly married for a year, and the baby has only passed the full moon. The day of reunion, the husband and wife are both close to age. He is seventy years old, and his son is also in his forties. ...one night in late 1948 It was the last night of the army's husband's vacation at home. will be the last night of forty years apart, that night only in the future It has been paid more and more attention every year, and it has become more and more unforgettable. That night, the young couple met for the first time because of a trivial incident. Mixed a few words.Bickering like that is rare in the life of any loving couple. I don't know how many times.But this time the couple quarreled, but they had to wait The last forty years of waiting for their best years to pass Good luck with words.The morning after that night, the young soldier officer, young husband and father, who went to the barracks without saying hello to his wife, That's just a caprice of a few seconds.After the husband left, the wife carried the child back Leaving her natal family was just an act of anger for a few minutes. But those few seconds and minutes have not only separated them for forty years, but they have chosen the path of a lifetime for Z or WR.I think that baby who is still in his infancy can be Z or WR.I have met their mothers.On the night of writing, I used them and their mothers to imagine their biological fathers, but it was always changing, and there was always a blurred human-shaped blank in front of me.It wasn't until I read the report that a young officer came along and filled in the blank with a little emotion. According to the report: The young husband and father was a pilot, and he arrived at the barracks to stand Immediately accepted the order: fly to Taiwan. "Where are the family members?" "You can take it with you." He replied When I got home, my wife and children were not there, and the military orders couldn't be delayed, so I didn't have time to look for her again They are gone. "Take them next time," he thought, thinking there was another Second-rate.But there will be no next time.Next time in Hong Kong forty years later... Or, for Z and WR's parents, the next time is just my wishful thinking about that story. 58 Z once mentioned his father very briefly: an old newspaperman.I have no impression of WR's father, I haven't heard him talk about it.So WR has to disappear temporarily, leaving the place and time where he and Z overlap.But WR's early experience is still very similar to Z.With the help of Z's memory, you can get the impression of WR from childhood to adolescence. 59 Z's father was not a military officer, and he certainly didn't know how to fly a plane. He was a very influential figure in the Chinese press in the 1940s. He went to Nanyang by boat in 1948 and never came back.Where the father ended up, Jing didn't know, not even the mother.It was first said that he went to Malaysia and Singapore.Later, some people said that he was dead. On the way from Singapore to Taiwan, the ship sank on the rocks and he was buried in the Pacific Ocean.But later, someone said that he had seen him on the streets of Taipei.The mother asked: "Have you talked?" The answer was: "No, he was sitting in the car, and I was standing on the side of the road." The mother asked again: "Are you sure that is him?" The answer was: "At least very, very Like him." Therefore, the mother didn't know where the father ended up, whether he was dead or alive.That young officer had nothing to do with Z, that was a fact.But the fate of the young officer's wife and children, in forty years, would be similar, if not worse, to that of Z (and WR) and his mother. The mother waited in the south with her son for three years, never leaving the house where they lived together before his father left.The south generally refers to the sunny and warm area south of the Yangtze River with sufficient sunshine.It is impossible and unnecessary for me to verify the specific location of the house.No matter where it is, the word "South" always evokes a ray of tenderness and melancholy in his son's heart.The emotions developed by anyone at the age of three will inevitably last throughout his life. Although it may be worn out and changed by the years to come, one day he has to give up all the temptations of this world and stay away from all honors and reputations. To the first emotions of life.The picture corresponding to this emotion is an old wooden house in the dense banana forest, a night after the rain, a round of pure moon... On the night of writing, I can see a three-year-old boy squatting In the close-up, the gentle night wind from the south blows gently, blowing past the boy, as if to blow his soul away from his body.The boy, the image is not very clear, but I thought it might be Z.I would like to share a kind of dream I was born with with three-year-old Z.Then I could see three-year-old Z squatting there, drawing his mother's face on the ground with stones.Following the child's eyes, the moonlight illuminates a corner of the old house's cornice, illuminates a few dripping plantain leaves, and illuminates the mother's young back.The paint on the doors and windows of the old house has cracked.The water droplets on the plantain leaves gather, roll down, and tap another leaf.Mother was wearing a cheongsam, her hair was tied up in a bun, and the moonlight shone on her fair neck.That is the South.Perhaps there are also fireflies, dancing in the surrounding darkness, but disappearing when they fly into the light. "Mom—! Mom—!" On the land in the south under the moonlight, the son wanted to draw his mother's beautiful lips, not only because they often kissed him with a faint fragrance, but also because he loved a boy My son's perception has long noticed her attractiveness. "Mom—!" "Mom—!" But the son couldn't see his mother's face clearly.The slim figure of my mother moved into the old house silently, and candles and incense were lit here and there in the dark old house.Mother must have sat down again amidst the drifting smoke, which scorched her dull and anxious eyes.That is the South.Southern nights and mother's sleepless nights.The son occasionally wakes up and always sees his mother walking up and down in the heavy old house. "Oh, go to sleep, mom is here." The mother came closer and sat or lay down next to him.At dawn, the incense was extinguished, and a layer of green light appeared on the wooden rafters of the roof, on the walls, on the floor, on the furniture and hanging calligraphy and paintings.There is a kind of brown lizard that always screams coldly before dawn. It looks like a gecko but is several times bigger than a gecko. It leans against the courtyard wall or lies on a tree pole, with its tail cocked and its small bulging eyes motionless. Suddenly, "Wow -" a strange cry. "Woo-wah--woo-wah-", the cry made the sky dare not to light up, and the dark dawn was cold and long.The mother covered her son's ears and kissed him: "Not afraid, not afraid." The son was still afraid.The son thought that was why his mother couldn't sleep all night.That's the South, the whole South.At that time, presumably Z (and WR) knew nothing about his father. Z never mentioned his south to me. The south, the whole south was once that gentle and melancholy night.But that was just an illusion I was born with.I don't know its origin.The reason why I regard it as Z's (or WR's) childhood is just my hope: that kind of south is every man's dream, and every lover who lives in a foreign country. In the south, this vision does not necessarily depend on night dreams. In the daytime, walking on a noisy street, sitting on a sunny beach, or full of people arguing about some issue, or ringing a doorbell to visit a friend, Whenever and wherever the South is mentioned, I see it.Say softly "South - Fang -" and the vision will appear.Born this way.I have seen it since I was born: on the left side of the picture, the water droplets on the plantain leaves are black and shiny, rolling and falling along the neat veins, and on the left side there is nothing, completely empty; on the right side of the picture, the old The house is so high and the eaves are soaring, one door is open, one window is also open, insects are chirping in the shadows, and further to the right is completely empty; Gather slowly, and gather into the shape of a child on the southern land under the clear moonlight.Other than that I haven't seen the South.Besides, it was the young woman's back that was illuminated by the moonlight from time immemorial.The clearest and most illusory thing is that Tingting's back.Can't see her face clearly.She can be, but doesn't have to be, Z's mother, perhaps she is the embodiment of all respectable and lovely women.In the vision I was born with, not in my vision of Z's mother, she could be all the women I have ever admired and loved.Maybe my emotions stayed in the south in my previous life, and my soul was once in the slightly drunk night wind.If life really is a cycle of endless birth and death, maybe I was reborn in the south last time, and this time I was exiled to the north.this is possible.Once I mentioned this to my teacher O, and she said it was quite possible. "Melting moonlight, drizzle plantains." O said, "It's entirely possible that you've been there." "No," I said, "I haven't really seen the South until now." O said, "No, I don't mean this life." "You mean, previous life?" "Yes. But maybe afterlife." I often feel that the figure of the female teacher O and the figure of Tingting in the old house in the south are very similar, although the times are far apart.Does it look like it?No, at least not just in appearance.So, what is the similarity between them?—If you think about it this way, time and era will disappear, and the two images will be blurred and overlapped.Each one is clear when you think about it individually, but when you think about it together, even the rhythm of their steps, their expectant eyes, and even their voices and breaths are all entangled and confused, and the boundaries cannot be seen clearly. Because of them, I went to see the group of pigeons outside my window.Generation after generation, flock after flock, that is just the continuation of the pigeon, the method, the way, the form of the continuation of the pigeon.Like day and night, it is the continuation of time.Just like yesterday's you and today's you, and tomorrow's you, that is your continuation is the continuation of the same person.The same is true for the sea of ​​people, each of them will be gone in a hundred years or at most two hundred years later, but there is still a sea of ​​people going on there, as always, clamoring and dreaming, the connection between them is just like yesterday's You and who you are today, see no breaks or pauses. O was born in the south, she came to the north from there, and I think she must have gone back there now... All the respectable and lovely women, they should come from the south and back to the south, they came from that The mystery of the charming water and soil formation and transformation into that piece of water and soil makes the men in the north look forward to their lives with poor dreams. I think so, for some reason. I hope so, and I don't know why. In this book, I probably will inevitably use my paper and pen to send those beautiful, respectable and lovely women far away, and send them back to their south.Somehow.Maybe I have to wait until my heart and soul pass through Dr. L and F, poets outside the disabled. When Z's uncle (who else, who else?) was in his mind, he had to wait until then to understand why. 60 The mother waited three years in the south with her son.In the third year, this year, news came that my father had sunk in the Pacific Ocean with a passenger ship.The mother suspected it for a long time, and although she finally believed it was not true, she took her son to the north at the end of the year. The son saw snow for the first time.Bullock carts, ferries, trains, and cars, the mother and son walked from south to north for seven days, and saw the rain gradually turning into snow.The river turns yellow, the fields become desolate, the mountains are vigorous and majestic, but the mountains are lonely and desolate, and the sunshine is indifferent and mesmerizing, which is extremely precious.There was a thin ribbon that ran up and down the ridge.The son asked, "What is that?" The mother said, "The Great Wall." "What are we doing here?" My father's hometown is in the north.Grandpa was still alive then.Grandpa was alone in the north at that time. Mother did not sell the house in the South.She entrusted the house to a friend.She was sure that her father hadn't died, that he hadn't been on that boat, of course his father would come back, and one day he would suddenly appear in front of her and her son.The ship must have sunk to the bottom of the sea, and the person who brought the news also brought newspapers from Hong Kong and Singapore at that time; several newspapers published the news of the shipwreck in a prominent position, in black and white: "Terrible, hundreds of Passengers died in the waves", "a rare tragedy in the history of navigation, hundreds of people did not survive".The mother read the newspapers several times, and asked: "Is he definitely on this boat?" The answer was: "Some people say that he took that boat." Is that boat?" "I don't know, but someone saw him book the ticket for that boat." Mother said, "Can you leave these newspapers for me?" Mother still didn't believe that father had died, I can't believe I won't see him again.My mother read those newspapers for several days and nights, and suddenly she had an idea, and finally found a life for her father: Among the hundreds of people killed in the reports, they listed the names of several well-known people in the business, financial and cultural circles. , but not her husband.It stands to reason that there should be him.If he was really on that boat, he should be mentioned especially in the newspapers. Her husband was an influential figure in the Chinese press in the 1940s, and anyone who didn't notice him should pay attention to him.Mother said to herself: "If anyone is not mentioned in the newspaper, he should be mentioned." But no.But there is no him.Mother searched those newspapers day and night, read every word and every punctuation mark, no, definitely no father's name. "If he is dead, he should have his name. Without his name, it means that he is not on that boat." Later, my mother said to grandpa. "Who? Mom. Who are you talking about?" the three-year-old boy asked from the side. "Your father." Mother said, "Your father." "My dad?" "Yes. He is alive, and your father must be alive." "What is alive?" the son asked. Mother picked him up and kissed him.The mother's tears streamed down the son's face, as if living was something that required more tears. Grandpa said nothing. At that time Z had followed his mother to the north and lived with his grandfather. 61 It was Grandpa who kept writing letters asking them to go.Grandpa sent letters to the south one by one, asking the mother to bring her son to the north.Grandpa said that he was lonely and lonely alone. Grandpa said, "You mother and son must also have a hard time." Grandpa said that he was old and it was difficult to leave his homeland. "Come, come to the north and let us live together."In his grandfather's letter, he said that he had already abandoned politics and started farming. His decision to quit politics and start farming was mainly not because of the situation, but because he had seen too many parties and factions over the years. He was tired and tired, and he felt old and dull Incompetent, unable to keep up with the trend.Grandpa said in the letter that he read Tao Yuanming's poems since he was a child, and only at this age did he realize the true state of openness and tranquility of "picking chrysanthemums under the eastern fence and seeing Nanshan leisurely".Grandpa's letter said: "When the great way is abandoned, there is benevolence and righteousness; when wisdom comes out, there is great hypocrisy." Military conquests in politics, frequent battles between deer and cauldron are nothing more than conquering the world and sitting in the world. From generation to generation, who doesn't say that the world is the public, but when will the world be the public?Heroes are brave, grand and heroic, and strive to be the king of the world.How is being the king of the world like "being the valley of the world"? "For the valley of the world, Changde is enough to return to simplicity." Grandpa said, after thinking about it, it would be best to retire and return to farming.The grandfather said in the letter: He has no relatives anymore. If he can be with his grandchildren and play around all day long, he can spend his old age in peace with no regrets or complaints. There was a chance later, when my mother showed these letters to Z's uncle, hoping that he would know Grandpa's state of mind.After reading the letters, my uncle advised my mother not to worry.The uncle scanned the letters again, and said with a smile, "He just vented his dissatisfaction. It just shows the end of a class." The uncle said that at his age, it is impossible for him to be reborn.The uncle said: "Don't let the children be influenced by him, it's a big deal." What kind of official did grandpa serve in the Kuomintang regime?unknown.Either he had been a very big official, so big that the People's Liberation Army would not kill him, and killing him would have a bad influence;However, according to the "retirement and return to farming" section of his letter, he may also be a member of the uprising and was invited to occupy a dignified and leisurely position in the new regime. Uncle is a member of the Communist Party, an old party member, what we often call an old revolutionary.But this person is rather a concept in my memory.In my mind from youth to youth, he used to be a solemn and noble concept, an idol on which the heart of reverence was influenced, and he was tall and unsmiling, located in a vast and vast concept.Then at some point, I remembered that I was looking up at him as always, but he disappeared from the concept. Before I could think about it, I saw him emerge from the place where he disappeared.If he was freed from a concept, he would not necessarily be him, and he would not necessarily be simply Z's uncle. Immediately, the images of several people appeared in front of my eyes, and they were linked to the fragmented stories of many people.By the time I wanted to write Z's uncle into this novel, those people were still there, they were all still alive, changing their moods and emotions in the vicissitudes of more than half a century, and spending their old age in different ways.One of them, whoever, reminded me and decided to write about Z's uncle.The story of any of them, whoever's story, may be the past or continuation of Z's uncle. Z's uncle ran away from home before graduating from high school and joined the revolution.He was 18 or 19 years old that year, and it was a time of student unrest. He not only participated, but was also the leader of a party of students. The unrest lasted for five or six weeks, until he was expelled from school, and he and Z's grandfather announced the abolition of the school at the same time. Their father-son relationship caused such trouble that the government dispatched the police to suppress and arrest several troublemakers.There is Z's uncle on the arrest list.One day he sneaked home in the middle of the night, and with the help of his elder brother (Z's father), he took a look at his dying mother through the window. After that, his elder brother managed to get some money for him, and sent him away without telling everyone in the family. "Where do you want to go?" "Look for the Communist Party." "Where do you know they are?" "It's everywhere. Brother, let's go together. The news in your newspapers is just to help them deceive the people." Brother again Having clarified their sacred duty and independent position as a reporter, the two brothers were silent for a long time under the midnight starlight, and then parted with brotherhood affectionately amidst the occasional singing of night birds, and went their separate ways.Of course, this scene is all my fiction, based on my impressions of that generation of revolutionaries from movies and books when I was young. 62 A large part of our life is inevitably walked through in imagination.Imagining on an accidental but necessary network node is like looking at stars from tens of thousands of light-years away. 63 Decades later, during the "Cultural Revolution", someone exposed an incident on the big-character posters, which became an important factor in the downfall of Z's uncle: at the end of 1948, around the same time that Z's father left the mainland, Z's uncle On the way of the People's Liberation Army's overall victorious attack, I made a detour home to see Z's grandfather once.He only stayed at home for one night, closed the door and turned off the lights. According to the informant, he and his reactionary old man chattered and talked about dawn. "Yes, that's him, that's him!" The whistleblower jumped onto the stage and continued to expose, "I recognize him, he's old now, and he looks more and more like his reactionary old man. He's a traitor! He must be honest What did he tell his reactionary father, what secrets did he reveal to the enemy!" The rebels shouted angrily: "Be honest! Be honest! Down with the traitor! Down with the traitor..." Some pious guards The "Emperor" faction is crying like a dream, and the situation is similar to the struggle against the local tyrants and evil gentry back then.Encouraged, the whistleblower improvised: "He had a secret conversation with his reactionary Lao Tzu all night, and then, in order to hide people's eyes and ears, he jumped off the back wall and ran away before dawn." Raise your fist wave after wave, and shout out a rhetorical question in a marching rhythm: "China has a population of 800 million—!" "China has a population of 800 million...population...population...population...!" Is it okay not to fight--?!" "Is it okay not to fight... is it... is it... is it... is it...?!" I used to sit in this kind of audience.I used to squeeze in such a crowd, crane my neck and look up to the stage.Belts, sticks, fists, and spittle all fell on an old man.I once slipped out of such a meeting place, anxiously thinking about the beautiful house that I and the painter Z may have seen and its mysterious and noble owner. Is the elegant sound of the piano still flowing?But I didn't have time to find out when an idol disappeared from the concept where he was located, or disappeared together with the vast and vast concept. When he emerges from the place where he disappeared, he has succumbed, he has become a mortal, and he is weak and helpless, allowing the rebels to throw all kinds of crimes on his head.He wanted to fight back, but he was powerless. Z's uncle admitted: In 1948, late at night, he persuaded his reactionary Lao Tzu to distribute all real estate and land to the poor without compensation.He said that he persuaded his grandfather: "Then you might as well hide somewhere, or you might as well go abroad to find my brother." He said he said to his grandfather: "Frankly speaking, based on what you did back then, I don't think so." I need to come back and tell you something.” He said to his reactionary father. "I'm not for you, understand? I'm for my mother's spirit in heaven!" Z's grandfather said nothing. z的叔叔喊：“你就听我一句吧，先找个什么地方去躲一躲。否则，坐牢、杀头，反正不会有你的好！”这一下爷爷火了，说：“把房产土地平均分给大家，这行。但是我不逃跑，我没必要逃跑！我没做过伤天害理的事我为什么要跑？谁来了事实也是事实！”爷爷老泪纵横仰天长叹：“天地作证，我自青年时代追随了中山先生，几十年中固不敢说赴汤蹈火舍死忘生，但先总理的理想时刻铭记于心，民族、民权、民生不敢须臾有忘，虽德才微浅总也算竭尽绵薄了。我真不懂我们是在哪一步走错了，几十几百几千年来这苦难的民族到底是哪一步走错了呀？如今共产党既顺天意得民心，我辈自愧不如理当让贤。如果他们认为我该杀，那么要杀就杀吧，若共产党能救国救民于水深火热，我一条老命又何足为借？！”文化革命中的揭发与交待到此为止。因为台下必定会喊起来：胡说！nonsense!这是胡说！这是小骂大帮忙！不许为反动派歌功颂德！肯定会这样。甚至会把那个得意忘形的揭发者也赶下去，或者也抓起来。 但这只是一个故事的上半部。 断章取义说不定是历史的本性。 十年之后在为Z的叔叔举行的平反大会上，这个故事的下半部才被选入史册。……在爷爷自以为清白、无辜，老泪纵横地慷慨陈词之后，事实上叔叔的立场绝对坚定。叔叔冷笑道：“你说什么，你没做过伤天害理的事？你敢把这句话再说一遍吗？”爷爷居然不敢。他们同时想起了叔叔是怎样参加了革命的。叔叔说：“那年闹学潮，你都干了些什么？”叔叔说：“你们口口声声民族、民权、民生，为什么人民抗议营私舞弊，要打倒贪污腐败的官僚卖国贼，你们倒要镇压？”爷爷嗫嚅着说：“我敢说我的手上没有血。”叔叔说：“那是因为你用不着自已的手！”爷爷说：“不不，我没想到他们会那么干。这由不得我呀！”叔叔说：“但是他们就那样干了，你还是依然和他们站在一起吗？”爷爷不再说什么。叔叔继续说：“你又有什么资格去叫喊'天下为公'？你有几十间房，你有上百亩地，你凭什么？你无非比那些亲手杀人的人多一点雅兴，吟诗作画舞文弄墨，写一幅'天下为公'挂起来这能骗得了谁？”爷爷无言以对。叔叔继续说：“就在我母亲病重的时候，你又娶了一房小，你仍然可以说你的手上没有血，你可以坦坦荡荡地向所有人说，我的母亲是病死的，但是你心里明白，你心里有她的血！”那时爷爷已是理屈词穷悲悔欲绝了，叔叔站起身凛然离去……。平反会开得庄严、肃穆、甚至悲壮，主席台上悬挂国旗、党旗，悬挂着几个受叔叔牵连而含冤赴死的老人的遗像，周围布设着鲜花。但是不等大会结束，Z的叔叔就走出了会场。不过他没有再走进那片恢弘和苍茫中去，他就像当年的我——就像一个才入世的少年似一般，觉得世界真是太奇怪了。 64 Z第一次见到叔叔是在他刚到北方老家不久。自从叔叔十八、九岁离开家乡，好多年里爷爷不知道叔叔到了哪儿。自从四八年那次叔叔来去匆匆与爷爷见了一面之后。已经又过了三年，这三年里中国天翻地覆爷爷仍不知叔叔到底在哪儿，在做着什么事。爷爷从来不提起他。爷爷从来不提起叔叔，不说明爷爷已经把他忘记了，恰恰相反，说明他把他记得非常深。 Z和母亲到了北方不久，夏天，Z记得是向日葵花盛开的时候，是漫山遍野的葵花开得最自由最漂亮的时节，叔叔回老家来过几天。z不认识他。在那之前就连母亲也没见过他。 叔叔回来得很突然。 有天早晨爷爷对孙子说：“我得带你去看看向日葵，不不，你没见过，你见过的那几棵根本不算。”爷孙俩吃罢早饭就上了路。爷爷告诉他：“咱们的老家其实不在城里，咱们真正的老家在这城外。在农村。”Z说：“农村？什么是农村？”“噢，农村嘛，就是有地可种的地方。”“它很远吗？”“不，不远，一会儿你就能看见它了。”Z自己走一阵，爷爷抱着他走一阵。街上的店铺正在陆续开门，牌匾分明旗幌招展。铁匠铺的炉火刚刚点燃，呼哒呼哒的风箱声催起一股股煤烟。粉房（或是酱房、豆腐房）里的驴高一阵低一阵地叫，走街串巷的小贩长一声短一声地喊。Z问，“还远吗？”爷爷说：“不远了，这不都到城边了？”Z再自己走一阵，爷爷又背上他走一阵。“您累了吗爷爷？”爷爷吸吸鼻子说：“你闻见了没有，向日葵的香味儿？”Z说：“您都出汗了，让我下来自己走吧。”爷爷说：“对，要学会自己走。”爷爷说；“多大的香味儿呀，刮风似的，你还没闻见？”Z使劲吸着鼻子说：“哪儿呀？在哪儿呀？”爷爷笑笑，说：“别着急，你慢慢地就会认识这香味儿了。”后来还是爷爷背起已出了城，又走了一会儿，然后爬上一道小山岗，小山岗上全是树林，再穿过树林。忽然孙子在爷爷的背上闻到了那种香味儿，正像爷爷说的那样，刮风似地扑来，一团团，一阵阵，终于分不出界线也分不出方河，把人吸引进去把人吞没在里面。紧跟着，他看见了漫山遍野金黄耀眼的葵花。几千几万，几十万几百万灿烂的花朵顺着地势铺流漫溢，顺着山势起伏摇荡，四面八方都连接起碧透的天空。爷爷说：“看吧，这才是咱们的老家。”爷爷让Z从他的背上下来，爷孙俩并排坐在小山岗的边沿。“看看吧，”爷爷说，“这下你知道它们的香味儿了吧？这下你才能说你见过向日葵了呢。”Z幼小的心确实让那处境 震动了，他张着嘴直着眼睛一声不响连大气儿都不敢出，谁也 说不清他是激动还是恐惧。那海一样山一样如浪如风无边无 际的黄花，开得朴素、明朗，安逸却又疯狂。（我常窃想，画家 Z他为什么不去画这些辉煌狂放的葵花，而总是要画那根孤寂飘蓬的羽毛呢？这确实是一个有趣的疑问。也许答案会像命运一样复杂。）爷爷说：“咱们的老家就在那儿，咱们的村子就在那儿，它让葵花挡着呢，它就藏在这葵林里。”爷爷说：“等到秋天，葵花都收了，你站在这儿就能看见咱们的村子。”爷爷说：“咱们祖祖代代都住在那儿，就种这葵花为生，我正打算再搬回到村子里去呢。”爷爷问Z：“你愿意吗？你看这儿好不好？”Z什么都不说，从一见到这铺天盖地的葵花他就什么话都不说了。直到爷爷又抱起他走进向日葵林里去时，Z 仍然连大气都不敢出。向日葵林里很热，没有风，有一条曲曲弯弯的路。那路很窄，看似也很短，随着你不断往前走它才不断地出现。硕大的葵叶密密层层不时刮痛了Z的脸。爷爷却揪一张叶子贴在鼻下细细地闻，爷爷揪那叶子时花蕊便洒落下来，就像雨。到处都听见吱吱唧唧嗡嗡嘤嘤的声音，各种虫鸣。听不到边。就在这时男孩儿看见了叔叔。 一个男人忽然出现在男孩儿和爷爷的眼前，他穿了一身旧军装，他又高又大，他长得确实很魁伟很英武，但他不笑。 他站在几步以外，看着爷爷。他脸上一丝笑意也没有。 男孩儿偎在爷爷怀里感到爷爷从头到脚都抖了一下，再回头看爷爷，爷爷的脸上也没有了笑容。 叔叔和爷爷就这样对望着，站着，也不说话，也不动。 后来还是爷爷先动了，爷爷把孙子放下。 那个男人便走过来看看男孩儿，摸摸他的头。 那个男人对男孩儿说：“你应该叫我叔叔。” 那个男人蹲下来，深深地看着男孩儿的脸：“肯定就是你，我是你的亲叔叔。” Z觉得，他这话实际是说给爷爷听的。 65 叔叔突然回来了。叔叔回来并不住在爷爷家，不住在城里，他住在真正的老家，就是爷爷说的藏在葵林中的那个小村子。母亲带着儿子穿过葵林，到那小村子里去过，去看叔叔。叔叔其实并不住在村子里，他独自住在村边一间黄土小屋里，住了几天就又走了。叔叔住的那间小屋是谁家的呢？叔叔要不是为了回来看爷爷，他是回来看谁呢？这也是些有趣的谜团。这些谜团要到将来才能解开。 66 男孩儿只记得，叔叔住的那间小屋前后左右都被向日葵包围着。正是葵花的香气最为清纯最为浓烈的那几天，时而雨骤风疾，时而晴空朗照，蜂鸣蝶舞，葵花轻摇曼摆欢聚得轰然有声，满天飞扬的香气昼夜不息。男孩儿只记得，在那花香熏人欲醉的笼罩中，母亲劝叔叔，叔叔也劝母亲。母亲劝叔叔的事男孩儿还完全听不懂，以为是劝叔叔住到爷爷那儿去，但似乎主要不是这件事，中间总牵涉到一个纤柔的名字。然后叔叔劝母亲，劝她不要总到南方去打听父亲的消息。 母亲说：“你哥哥他肯定活着，他肯定活着他就肯定会回来。” 母亲说：“他要是回来了，我怕他找不到我们。他要是托人来看看我们，我怕他不知道我们到哪儿去了。” 叔叔说：“要是他愿意回来，他就无论如何都能找到你们。” 母亲说：“只要他能，他肯定会回来。” 叔叔说：“但是他要是回不来，我劝你就别再总到南方去打听了。这样对你对孩子都不好。” 母亲说：“为什么？我去打听的是我的丈夫，这有什么关系？” 叔叔说：“不不，不是这个意思。” 母亲说：“还有什么？” 叔叔说：“这个嘛，一下子很难说清。但是嫂子，你应该听我的，现在的事我比你懂。” 母亲说：“会有什么事，啊？你知道你哥哥的消息了吗？” 叔叔说：“不不。可是嫂子你别生气，你听我说，要是哥哥他不回来他就是……就是敌人，当然……当然我们希望他能回来。” 母亲愣着，看着叔叔，愣了很久。 “你哥哥他总说，你们兄弟俩感情最好。” “嫂子你别误会，我想念他并不比你想念得轻。我多想他能回来，能够说话的亲人我也只有他了。但他要是不回来，嫂子，你得懂……” 很久很久，母亲流了泪说：“你有你忘不了的情，我也有我的，不是吗？” 叔叔使低下头，不再言语。 67 母亲不管不顾还是不断到南方去。儿子三到五岁的两年里，母亲又到南方去过四次。儿子哭着喊着不让母亲离开，爷爷抱着他送母亲去上火车，四次，儿子记得清楚极了。母亲回来时还是一个人，四次，Z记得清楚极了，因为母亲没有骗他，母亲每次只去六、七天就一定会回来。母亲走的时候总显得激动不安，回来时却一点儿都不高兴，这让男孩儿有些伤心。母亲每次回来都要病倒，头痛，呕吐，吃不下饭，吐的全是水，这真让男孩儿心疼所以儿子记得清楚极了，在他三到五岁期间母亲到南方去过四次。 生活所迫，母亲第四次到南方去时，把那所老宅院卖了。卖价很便宜，因为她不能太在南方耽搁，因为那时候买得起房的人很少。母亲在本来已经很便宜的卖价中再减去一些，以此向买主提出一个条件：要是有一个海外归来的男人到这宅院里来找他的妻子和儿子，请买主务必告诉他，他的妻儿都还在，在北方他的老家等着他。母亲说：“让他立刻就来。”母亲说：“要是有人带他的信来，请立刻转寄给我。”母亲说：“要是他托人来看我们，请那个人跟我们通个信儿，我立刻就来。”母亲说：“要是那个人来不及等我，请千万记住把我们的情况告诉他，再请他一定转告孩子的父亲。”母亲单单没说，要是父亲已经不在人间，要是有人来毫不含糊地证实了这一点，那可怎么办？母亲在意识和潜意识里都坚信着，父亲肯定活着，他肯定不在那条沉没的船上。 68 所以，Z九岁的那个冬天的晚上，抑或少年WR的那个繁星满天的夏夜（此前几年，男孩儿和母亲已离开爷爷，从老家来到了这座大城市），当母亲对他说“明天咱们要搬家……搬到你父亲那儿去……他就住在离这儿不远的地方……”时，Z或者WR心想母亲必定会激动得笑，或者激动得哭。但是母亲却整整一个晚上郁郁寡欢沉默不语，一双失神的眼睛频频地追随尔后又慌忙地躲避开儿子的目光，这真让儿子迷惑不解。 有两种方式揭穿这个谜底。 一种是WR母亲的方式： WR的母亲回到卧室，站在门旁看着儿子，看着WR收拾那些旧唱片。母亲终于忍不住流泪，她走过去搂住WR，然后与儿子面对面坐下，对他说：“孩子，我本想骗你，但我还是不能骗你。明天你要见到的那个人，不是你盼了很多年的那个人，不是你的生身父亲。你懂吗？妈妈需要一个人来帮妈妈，来和妈妈，和你，我们一起过以后的日子。你能理解吗？妈妈需要一个男人，而你也要有一个父亲，因为，因为以后的日子还很长。你要是高兴，你可以叫他，要是你不愿意，你就先不要叫他。他说他能理解。他是个好人。所以我才没跟你商量就这样决定了。你愿意吗？你愿意再有一个男人来和我们一起过吗？你要是实在不愿意，我们明天也可以先不过去，我们可以以后再说。这件事完全可以再考虑……”WR偎依在母亲怀里，很久很久，母亲感到儿子点了点头，母亲泪如雨下。 一种是Z的方式： Z眼前的谜底要确一些才被揭穿，但也很快。 第二天搬家的车来了，Z和母亲坐上车，到那个男人住的地方去。在路上，Z问：“他是什么时候回来的？”母亲说：“见了面，你要叫他，你不是早就想叫你的父亲了吗？”谁也没有料到，如此艰深的一个谜，竟被这个只有九岁的孩子轻易猜破，竟被他在见到那个男人的三个小时之后就轻而易举地揭穿。方法很简单：忙乱之中Z瞅准一个机会，把那个男人领到自已的行李跟前，把那些唱片拿给那个男人看，但是那个男人完全不认识它们。那个男人只是摸了摸z的头，故作亲热地说：“哟哟，你妈还给你买了这么多唱片哪？”z问：“你没见过这些东西吗？”那个男人说：“过去我在一个英国牧师家里见过这样的东西。”恰这时母亲走了过来，母亲正好看见这一幕，母亲的脸色立刻变得惨白。 69 不过我犯了一个明显的逻辑错误。如今我远离了Z和WR去猜想当年的情景，我看出我犯了一个技术上的错误，那就是：母亲没必要欺骗儿子，她知道，这件事不可能骗过儿子。因为，儿子无论如何应该见过他生父的照片。多年的颠沛流离，母亲丢失了很多东西但她不会丢失父亲的照片，她当然会把爱人的照片时时带在身边。母亲朝思暮想望眼欲穿，她一定会常常把父亲的照片拿出来看，给儿子看，和儿子一起看。不是在南方就是在北方，不是在葵花飘香的老家，就是在这城市车马喧嚣的一条小街上，一个小院里，母亲会指着那照片告诉儿子：“记住，这就是你的父亲。记住他。”所以，我应该改正这个违背真实的错误。至少，Z的母亲应该像WR的母亲一样，犹豫着，但还是把谜底告诉了儿子。 但现在诗人L从我的思绪中跑出来对我说：我倒宁愿你保留着你这个真实的愿望。诗人说：你最好不要去写那个母亲是在何时何地和怎样把那次搬家的事实告诉给儿子的。诗人说：是的是的，我不愿去没想，在把事实告诉给儿子之前，那个女人是在何时何地为什么竟放弃了她的梦想？诗人L不愿看到甚至不愿去想，一个美好的女人放弃梦想时的惨状。诗人现在甚至希望： 她魂牵梦系的那个男人确实已经死了，在她放弃她的梦想之前，这个消息已经得到了证实。或者，诗人希望： 在她放弃她的梦想之前，她的梦想已经自行破灭，有确凿无疑的证据表明，那个远在天边的男人能够回来但他并不打算回来。或者，诗人希望： 她的梦想不是被理性放弃的，至少不是被一种现实的利益所放弃的，我宁愿那是被另一个梦想顶替掉的，那样的话，梦想就仍然能够继续。诗人想：我宁愿忍受她已经另有所爱，也不愿意设想这个世界上竟没有一个人能够幸免于从梦想堕落进现实。是的，诗人说，我不喜欢WR母亲的方式，我情愿忍受Z母亲的逃避尽管也许她无可逃避。 但这时F医生在我的心里对诗人说；那倒不如没有梦。F医生希望：要是一个人不得不放弃他的梦想，上帝应该允许他把那些梦想忘记得干干净净。 诗人反驳道：不得不放弃吗？我看不出有什么事能迫使她这样。 F医生讥嘲道：那是因为你仅仅是个诗人，更准确地说，你仅仅是一行诗。 70 我知道，但是我知道Z的抑或WR的母亲为什么放弃了她们的梦想。少年Z和少年WR那时还不可能知道，只有未来成熟的男人才知道：她是为了儿子的前程。当她带着儿子离开了爷爷的时候，已经证明她终于听懂了叔叔的忠告。她带着儿子到了这座城市，在一所小学校找到了一份教书的差事，一做几十年，其间中她再没有去过南方。